Shadow's Kiss
by Billabong2011
Summary: Secrets, memories, trauma all have a way of haunting you. They're ingrained in your soul, and just when you think you can outrun them, you realize there's no way to outrun yourself. VaughnXChelsea, but featuring all the other characters with stories of their own. Rated T for language and adult themes - may be raised to M later.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey, all! My name is Fallon, or if you want to you can call me billabong2011 - not sure if I have many followers or fans out there, but if you know me at all you'd know that I have this awful tendency to write stories that I never finish :/ I hate that about myself, and I'm determined not to see it happen here. So I'm considering deleting my other fics from my profile and dedicating my time solely to this one, because it's a story of a pairing I desperately want to tell (ChelseaxVaughn forever!). I'm working at JCPenney, which takes up a good amount of time, as well as living with my sort of not really but almost boyfriend (it's complicated...) and our three pets, so you can see I can get busy at times... oh, did I mention I moved to Texas from Maryland only in March? So if there's gaps between my updates, I'm so so super sorry! But I really want to see this fic through - I'm not sure how long I'll make it, but I have this little habit of writing very long stories, so I hope you'll enjoy the ride. Also, this prologue is dreary and angsty as F*$! but I don't plan on normal chapters being that way... at least not all the time :) Thanks for reading!**

**-Fallon**

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

**Chelsea**

_I have so many stories to tell, but I can't find the words to tell them._

_ The daydreams have gotten more colorful and vivid, growing and bursting into life like a firework against the darkness of the sky. But that's all they'll ever be; here one moment, a brilliant light to stave off the unending night, gone within the blink of a heavily lidded eye, so instantaneous its existence seems nothing more than an imagined memory or a forgotten dream._

_ It's always just like the fourth of July, endless fireworks flaring with uncontested splendor as I sit in class or listen to music or clean my room, and just when I find myself stringing together the capricious thoughts into the beginnings of a fairy tale or an urban legend or a salacious poem, they rain down from the heavens of my head into the abyss of my heart, never to be seen again. I watch them fall before I hear the roar of the thunder, that familiar rumble the sound of my dreams being washed away by a sluggish sea, swirling and flowing and beating against the shore in time with the churning rhythm of my miserable pulse._

_ And then it begins again._

_ Spark. Flare. Boom._

_ Pop. Crackle. Fizzle._

_ Rumble. Rumble. Rumble._

_ Silence._

_ I've tried to explain this to my creative writing teacher, the way my thoughts dance around my mind like butterflies trip along a heated summer sidewalk, everywhere at once and yet never hovering for long, not once ever landing, mocking me, laughing at me, just always out of reach. And he frowns and shakes his head and grinds his teeth. He tells me it's natural. That it's normal. He tells me I have to write anyway, even if what I end up with isn't very good._

_ He doesn't understand._

_ The third assignment I didn't turn in is what gave him the idea I should, instead, recount one of my dreams._

_ But how do you explain to someone your dreams are not dreams at all, but nightmares? How do you explain you no longer sleep so you won't have to watch your memories play on the backs of your eyelids? How do you explain the only thing more terrifying than the demons that stalk you from beneath the bed, from within the closet, from around the corner, from everywhere you can think to look and everywhere you can't, is the erratic beating of your heart as darkness closes in around you, the silence and stillness of numbness and nothingness making you want to run, run so fast and so far you run out of yourself, shedding your skin and blood and bone and muscle and tissue and tendon as you flee, just so you are no longer trapped in your body, the body that is plagued and haunted and cursed and tainted with so many things you cannot find the words to describe? So all you're left with is an endless array of fireworks made from tempestuous dreams and impossible thoughts that blend together and amass into a growing, shifting, changing whirlwind of color and desire that shields you from the darkness, a barrier made of white noise and neon lights you cannot possibly hope to understand because anything less than that might not hold against the ever approaching beast on the horizon._

_ He will not understand._

_ Nobody will._

_ -Chelsea_

**oOo**

_Shadows chase me wherever I go._

_ They creep around my bedroom door as I try to sleep, they slink up behind me as I shower and wrap their arms around me in a cold embrace, they unfurl themselves in my peripheral vision as I'm chopping tomatoes for dinner, untangling into space like smoke, always present, ever intangible._

_ They get closer every day, stalking me from the corners of my eyes, whispering to me from the cracks in the stairs, the dust along the bookcase, the tree branches outside my window their fingers scraping along the glass, beckoning for me. They are relentless, saturnine as they encompass my sanity._

_ I have to get out of here._

_ -Chelsea_

**oOo**

_ My name is Chelsea. I am nineteen years old. I am a victim, a high school drop out, a recovering tragedy, a former mess. I will no longer feel guilt for things that were not my fault. I will no longer be abused. I will escape my past and the people who made it so bleak and barren and full of hate. I will grow strong from this. I will be better than what they made me._

_ My name is Chelsea, and I am leaving._

_ -Chelsea_

* * *

**Vaughn**

"Vaughn, sweetie, are you up yet?" The gentle tapping at my door stirs me from my slumber. I groan and grab the digital clock from the nightstand - 8:37. Shit. My alarm didn't wake me up _again_?!

"Yeah," I grunt as I swing my legs over the bed, blinking away the sleep and cracking my neck and back. Another monotonous day on the ironically named Sunshine Islands. But hell, at least I got to leave tonight.

"Sorry, Mirabelle, it won't happen again, ma'am," I tip my hat in her direction apologetically as I hurry through the shop, itching to get my work started for the day. To say I'm a hard working man is an understatement - and these slip ups of oversleeping lately eat away at me like acid.

"Vaughn, dear, there's no need to apologize," My aunt smiles sweetly at me from behind the counter, the kindness crinkling the creases of her eyes into crows' feet that feel like home. "You've been working so hard, it's understandable." I've always loved her voice, but I'd never tell her that. It was sweet and warm, like honey, with a southern drawl similar to my own. It reminded me of my mother's - what little I could remember of it.

"Morning!" Julia waves from the kitchen, voice two octaves too high for this early in the day. I grimace at her; she's wearing that slut getup again. She's my cousin, and I love her, but I can't help but question her judgment at times... well, most of the time. _All_ of the time. She was blessed with the curves of her mother - though if she wasn't careful she'd end up pudgy and round just like Mirabelle's become, Goddess bless her - but she didn't need to show it off all the damn time. They were plenty obvious enough without her stuffing herself into daisy dukes and country crop tops that left little, if _anything_, to the imagination. But it's never been my place to say - if Mirabelle has no qualms about it, I'll respect Julia's less-than-respectable decisions. I may not be the friendliest guy - hell, I kind of really hate people - but I'll be damned if I don't have the morals and the manners of a southern gentleman.

I make my way to the chicken coop, pulling on my gloves as I grab the feed bag from the pile in the far corner. The hens all cluck happily when they see me, and it makes me smile - animals were so easy, so kind, so pure. They understood me better than any other person ever had.

"Mornin', girls," I murmur as I scatter their feed in the bin. They crowd around my feet, eagerly pecking away at their breakfast, and I scan over each one in my head, silently counting off their names, the names I'd never admit to giving them, and the names I'm always sad to see them lose when adopted by a new owner. That was the one shitty thing about being in the animal dealing business - you never got to keep the animals.

I yawn as I collect their eggs, checking my belt for the tools I need when dealing with all the critters in the barn. There are 38 of them in total; it's fixing to be a long day. But that's a good thing. The more time I spend with the animals, the less time I have to get my paperwork done, and the less time I have to get my paperwork done, the less idle time there'll be for thinking.

Being alone with my thoughts is never a good thing. Besides, I'll have plenty of idle time when I board the ferry tonight.

I rub my face with my hand - I'm dreading it already. The ferry rides in this business may actually be worse than having to part with my animals... they plague me with thoughts of the past and memories of ghosts I want to forget. The rings under my eyes are damn near permanent because of all the sleepless ferry rides I have to put up with, tossing, turning, writhing in the agony of secrets I can never tell, and horrors I can never face.

I smile at the chickens one last time before latching the coop shut, turning to head for the barn. Yeah, tonight's ferry ride is gonna be even worse than usual.

Who says you have to be asleep to have nightmares? I never am.


	2. Chapter 1: Keepsake

**Chapter 2: Keepsake**

* * *

**Vaughn**

The first time I saw her, I never really _saw_ her.

That morning I'd been repairing one of the milkers. I was already in a foul mood because I couldn't seem to get my hands working in order to fix it as quickly as possible, and nothing made me angrier than getting behind on my work. I'd been sitting on the haystack in the corner of the shop, hacking at the little contraption with a screwdriver. That's when the bell above the door chimed.

I didn't make any move to get up - honestly, I just hoped whoever it was would go away, as childish a hope as it was. That, or Mirabelle or Julia would appear from one of the barns to deal with the customer.

I didn't even look up at her that first time. All I could see was that it was a girl in the doorway, one who was wearing a red bandana.

But she didn't say anything to me. She didn't stop at the counter.

She left.

The next time I saw her, she was still wearing that same red bandana.

She came back the next day as I was taking inventory of the feed bags beneath Mirabelle's counter. The bell chimed, and my stomach dropped. I had a feeling who it would be.

I didn't even look up from my clipboard. All I did was keep counting as a flash of red passed by overhead.

She didn't stay but more than two minutes. She left without a word. Again.

It bothered me all week, how uncomfortable I was with her in the room when I'd never even gotten a decent look at her. Why couldn't I look at her? Why wouldn't she even say a word to me, like everyone else always would? All I could think about was her red bandana... why red? Why did she wear it in her hair? Then again, why did I wear my stupid white kerchief around my neck?

_Because you're a sentimental asshole stuck living in the past._

_Thanks for that, Vaughn._

_Anytime._

I looked at her for the first time the next week, when I arrived Monday morning.

I'd barely finished setting my bags down in the guest room when that same goddamn bell rang from the front of the shop.

_Chelsea._

Of course, I didn't know that was her name then.

All I knew was that she always wore that stupid red bandana and never said a word to me and always came into the shop without buying a single thing or even looking at the animals or asking for Mirabelle or Julia or-

I froze.

She was even more attractive than Julia - and that was really saying something, because my cousin is one of the most beautiful girls around, and I'll kick the shit out of any guy who says otherwise. But this girl...this girl didn't dress sleazy, she wasn't dolled up with makeup, and hell, her outfit didn't even reveal much skin. She was done up so plainly, so naturally, and yet her beauty was still halting. And honestly, I was more admiring than aroused; there were cascades of caramel falling down her back against smooth, bronzed skin spackled with dirt, freckles dusted across her nose and beneath her lashes, serving as obvious remnants of work in the sun, full lips and lithe, athletic legs, with a figure so womanly it hurt hidden modestly beneath loosely fitting clothing meant for labor. But what really caught my attention was her gaze, with eyes so blue they were almost white, nearly the color of ice, striking in their intensity and fervor. So much so it made my mouth dry.

I couldn't have talked if I wanted to.

All I did was hide my face beneath my Stetson and rush for the barn-side door.

It was time for work... yeah, time for work.

That Tuesday was the first time I talked to her.

I was wiping my hands off on my pants after a hard morning full of dirty work - not very gentlemanly - when she walked through the door again. Same red bandana. Same chime of the overhead bell. Same uneasy feeling in my gut.

"Good mornin'," Was the best I could manage, meandering behind the counter in case she wanted to actually _buy_ something this time.

"No such thing."

I couldn't help but notice her voice before I noticed her words.

Her voice wasn't high pitched, like other girls, nor was it shrill and piercing, or squeaky and drawn out; it was low, and gravelly, and hoarse, and gentle, and melodic. It was almost alien to me, but, at the same time, it sounded like music. She didn't have that same accent that I had, the accent that sounded lazy and sluggish and slow - it was crisp and every word concise, but not rushed, not in a hurry. It was rough and raw and real; she sounded like a worker. Which was something I could respect.

It was perfect.

I'd ask her to read me the phone book just to hear it again.

I blinked as she scribbled in some words on a check she'd slid onto the counter, wondering if it was only my imagination that she'd sounded so wry and bitter when she'd answered me. Before I could find the words to say - I've never been any good at finding my words - she left out the door as quickly as she came, leaving her check behind. I held it to my face, examining it. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the post-it on the back.

_Thanks for everything, Mirabelle. Please accept this to repair Julia's locket. I understand how important keepsakes are._

I caught myself fingering the kerchief around my neck, cursing at my own sentimentality.

How did this girl know about Julia's locket, anyway? It was the only reminder of her father, my uncle, Julia had - why would a stranger who I'd never even seen talk to my aunt or my cousin know anything about it?

Yeah...keepsakes...

Good head that girl has on her. I'll say that much.

* * *

**Chelsea**

I gaped at Taro, at a loss for words.

_He was leaving me?!_

"Taro...what?" I fumbled. He beamed at me like nothing was out of the ordinary.

"That's it! I've taught you all you need to know, kiddo!" He smacked his cane on the ground before tapping my forehead with the very same stick. I reeled.

"But... it's not even time for lunch!" I chased after him as he'd already turned to head back into town. "It's my first day! You can't tell me that's all the wisdom I need to know to be a good farmer! Can't you teach me how to sense the weather with my right earlobe or something?"

"The secret to being a good farmer, miss Chelsea, is the ability to adapt," Taro stopped at the foot of the bridge leading to my land, knocking his own head with his cane. "And, as I sense from you, you are a master of flexibility and change. Is that right?"

I didn't know what to say. I faltered, struggling to find the right words. Well...yes, I guess I was good at adapting. But how did he know that? What did that have anything to do with farming? But it was too late. Taro was already headed back across the bridge.

"And your right earlobe will learn to sense rainy days after you make your first harvest, my protege!"

And then I was on my own.

"Great," I mumbled, turning back towards my fields, downtrodden. What an internship this was. But, I guess it was only fitting. I wasn't really a student, anyway. Fair's fair, right? I figured there wasn't much else for me to do, so I glanced at my watch. 8:16. Fantastic.

After weeding for a bit, I decided I'd head into town and meet all the rest of the townsfolk... it'd be better just to get it over with.

**oOo**

I found Denny fishing on the pier, kicking his toes in the water as he whistled a tune I didn't know. I smiled - he reminded me a lot of myself, the daydreamer in high school that made friends easily. But that felt like worlds ago, now. Even if it had only been three years.

"Hey, Denny," I sat beside him, hugging my knees to my chest. He jumped a little, surprised.

"Oh, hey Chelsea!" He greeted me with a laugh. "How did things with Taro go?"

"They... went..." I muttered. He laughed and cast his fishing line back out into the sea. "But, I was wondering...would you mind introducing me to some people in town today?"

"Not at all," He flashed me a two thousand dollar smile; he was really going to make some girl happy some day. "Just let me freshen up back at my shack, I've been fishing since 5." He stood and stretched, stifling a yawn. "You coming?"

"Oh... I'm invited?" I blinked in surprise. He laughed.

"Of course you are, come on, I'm sure Popper would love to see you too," He gestured to a seaside shack not fifty yards away, lugging his morning's catch behind him. Inside it was warm, his interior intimate and mellow, made up of dark logs and decorated with his proudest of catches. Popper sat on a perch at the foot of his bed, chirping happily when he saw me. I've always been better with animals than I am people - it took all the strength I had in me not to ask to stay here with Popper all day long instead.

But after stowing away his haul and changing into fresh clothes, Denny was leading me into town, away from the comfort of his cozy shack and the company of his beloved Popper, and into the uncertainty of humanity.

It was going to be a long day.

**oOo**

Long day _my ass._

Nothing was longer than the next day, a Monday, when I decided to visit the animal shop.

Bad move, Chelsea. Bad. Fucking. Move.

I'd planted even more crops for the day, after having bought some from Chen's shop after Denny had introduced me to the father and his son, Charlie, the day before. But, surprisingly, I'd already finished my work before ten. Huh. Maybe I really _was_ gonna be ok at this whole farming thing.

But the entire reason I'd wanted to come to this island and start up a ranch - aside from escaping Dante's Cartel - was precisely that: I wanted to start a _ranch._ Not a farm, a _ranch._ With all the animals you could imagine. Maybe I'd even found an animal sanctuary or wildlife reserve where I could help wildlife on an even bigger scale. Yeah. That would make me happier than anyone in the world.

I grew up wanting to be a veterinarian, but that dream kind of fell apart when I had to drop out of high school to support my ailing father. Yeah, that didn't work out so well for either of us - he ended up dead and I ended up in a prostitution ring, addicted to drugs and sold to the highest, greasiest, most repugnant bidder for the prettiest penny the cartel had ever seen that I never got to see for myself.

But even as I went through hell, even as I stared death in the face and spat in its eye, through it all I never stopped loving animals, and I don't think I ever will.

So even if I didn't have a proper coop or barn to start keeping any animals, I figured it wouldn't hurt to go to the animal shop and look.

But that was a mistake I'd regret forever. And ever. And ever.

I'd met Mirabelle and Julia the day before - and how sickeningly sweet they'd been! - but when I walked in, all I arrived to was an empty shop.

Empty save for the angry cowboy sitting on a stack of hay in the back.

I froze.

_Who the** hell** was he?_

I thought I'd met everyone yesterday... why the fuck hadn't Denny introduced me to this guy? And why did he look so angry? What did I do wrong? _For fuck's sake, I barely just walked in the door, don't you know how to make a sale?!_

But of course these were only the thoughts in my head - I'd never dare speak them out loud.

So I turned right around and left.

I cursed all the way back to my farm, angry tears burning hot in my eyes. I never cried when I was sad - only when I was angry. When I was sad I shut my emotions off and became numb, a living wall who couldn't feel a thing because she was too afraid of feeling anything at all.

I used to be so outgoing and full of life... but time in a prostitution ring really messed with your head, you know? Now anxiety attacks were common, an eating disorder ate away at my insides, post traumatic stress and former drug addiction gnawed at my spinal cord and I wasn't particularly fond of meeting people, _alone_, most particularly when it was a man. Being raped by my teacher when I was fourteen sure didn't help either.

But hey, if I didn't laugh about it I'd only cry, right?

Too bad the cowboy was there again the next day.

He was underneath the counter; he didn't seem so angry that day, and I think he thought I didn't see him, but oh, I did. I sooooo motherfucking did.

So out I went.

Again.

The next Monday was the first day we got a good look at each other.

I regret that day even more than the rest.

I stepped into the shop, and there he was.

So handsome it nearly broke my damn heart.

And trust me... you can never trust the handsome ones.

He had a shock of white hair, though he looked no older than 24, a strong, masculine jaw, a perfectly crafted nose, high cheek bones, and the most beautiful amethyst eyes I'd ever seen - I didn't even know eyeballs **CAME** in that color. He was tall - really, really tall, actually, and broad shouldered, and muscular, but not so much so he looked like a manorexic body builder... he was, to put it mildly, a perfect specimen of a man.

And that was terrifying to me.

He stared at me, and I stared right back, and we stared at each other for what felt like the longest moment of my life, _for the love of the Goddess just GO already_, until he finally tilted his hat over his eyes and hurried out a side door, breaking me from my reverie.

_Huh. Maybe he heard what I was thinking..._

"All I wanna do is see some animals," I crooned as I left the shop, one more time.

But, running into a frantic Julia on my way out, I helped her look for her locket, the only keepsake she had of her father (careful to hold onto my bandana every time I bent over, and always checking my neck for the pendant I always wore). Finally, we found it in barn 2, the clasp broken and metal of the back bent as it had presumably been trampled by one of the cows in the pen, if not all of the cows.

But despite my apologies for not finding it sooner, Julia seemed happy just to have an intact photo of her father back in her beautiful, slender fingers, hugging me through joyful tears for helping her look.

I made the decision right then and there to give Mirabelle some money the next day so she could have Julia's locket fixed.

But half of my turnips had been eaten by rabbits during the night, meaning I'd have less money in my own pocket from which to donate to Mirabelle the locket funds, so I was in a foul mood by the time I reached the animal shop.

And, oh joy, there was the cowboy.

Again.

"Good mornin'," He offered. Mmmm... what a deep, rugged, southern, velvety, cool voice... _Chelsea! Stop it!_

"No such thing," I muttered back, bitter and frustrated. I was in no mood for niceties today. I was here to do my good deed for the day and be off with myself; I was tired of helping others at my own expense, and I figured I'd better get back to my farm before I found any other noble cause to which I'd be impelled to dedicate myself.

I didn't bother looking at him when I left.

Handsome men were nothing but trouble.


End file.
